


Of a Feather

by Ultirex



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Commission fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultirex/pseuds/Ultirex
Summary: Two catty jets walk into a bar and find they have a little more in common than they would have thought.





	Of a Feather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lintu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lintu/gifts).



It felt as if half the Cybertronian populace flocked to Maccadam’s nowadays.

Autobots, Decepticons, and colonists alike suddenly found themselves in a tumultuous period of transition between war and peacetime, the old order and the new; and in such times of uncertainty, a strong glass of engex and the company of intoxicated mechs provided all the comfort and familiarity of a longtime friend.

The common criminal and former aristocrat alike would gather in the bar, blurring the caste system lines that had once stratified society. Even the Starscream wasn’t above Maccadam’s siren call, though the unspoken melting pot rule that governed the oil house didn’t quite extend to Megatron’s former Second in Command. 

Starscream sat alone at the bar, isolated from the cross-factional revels that occurred all around him. The patrons had kept a safe distance ever since Starscream had entered the establishment, met with a chorus of murmurs and the occasional bold insult spouted from somewhere among the masses.

He didn’t dwell on the fact that the general public regarded him much like a plague, but it still came as a surprise when he felt the presence of another at his side. Sparing the newcomer a glance, Starscream was greeted by the sight of a flier with an Autobot insignia emblazoned on their chest. They sat themselves at the stool two seats over from Starscream - a respectful distance, but practically intimate compared to the treatment he’d received thus far - and signaled for Blurr.

“Pharma? That really you?” Blurr flashed the flight-frame a jovial grin as he approached; a much warmer reception than he had received, Starscream couldn’t help but begrudgingly notice. “Feels like we haven’t seen you planet-side in ages. Been too busy saving lives to stop by and say hello?”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Pharma replied. His vocals were smooth, his smile one of an easygoing grace that Starscream could tell was indicative of of someone accustomed to schmoozing others. “You know I can never stay away too long. Not even a medic’s duty can keep him away from his home. And your bartending skills,” he added, and the blatant adulation was a tool Starscream was all too familiar with. 

“You flatter me too much,” Blurr said, though his rather smug grin belied his poor attempt at humility. “But what brings you back to Cybertron? Heard you’ve been busy since you left Rodion with that special assignment of yours.”

Pharma leaned in, prompting Blurr to do the same. “To tell you the truth, it’s confidential. I’m trying not to draw too much attention to my presence here, so your cooperation would be appreciated.”

“Of course,” Blurr murmured back with a wink. “Makes sense why you’d sit next to Starscream, then. He has a talent for repelling others, if you haven’t noticed. No need to worry about prying optics or audials here.”

Starscream resisted the urge to tell Blurr to get fragged, settling for a withering glare instead. He’d been permitted to drink here on the condition that he was a patron and not a politician. Provoking Blurr would only lead to his removal; less than ideal when the night was still young and his optical feed hadn’t even started to fritz yet.

“So what’ll it be, Doctor?” Blurr asked as he brandished a polished glass. “Can I interest you in today’s special?”

“Please,” Pharma said, and Blurr eagerly fetched the appropriate bottles and began crafting the desired drink.

As Blurr went about his work with all the flourish and theatrics of a seasoned pro who had pride in their work, Starscream noticed Pharma watching him out of the corner of his optic. The Autobot’s expression was unreadable - frustratingly so - yet the shameless display of scrutiny made a shiver of unease slither along Starscream’s spinal-strut.

“I’d say this is some of my finest work,” Blurr announced as he slid the completed cocktail to Pharma. “It’s on the house. Good luck with whatever business you have and don’t be a stranger, alright?”

He departed with a salute that left Starscream gagging on his own engex.

The reaction did not go unnoticed by Pharma, who swiveled his seat and faced Starscream for the first time. His smile was measured, calculated, little more than a slight upturn of his lips and a glint of _something_ in his optics that made Starscream feel as if he were being measured up, perhaps not unlike a culture of abnormal cells beneath a medical facility’s microscope.

“Starscream,” Pharma said. He gently swirled his glass with one hand as he spoke with a familiarity that left Starscream questioning his assumption that this was a first-time encounter. “Didn’t think I would find myself in your company tonight. I would say I’m charmed, but I’m sure you of all people can recognize a lie when you’re fed one.”

Pharma’s pleasant tone never once wavered during that caustic introduction. He raised his glass to Starscream before taking a sip of the drink, only momentarily breaking eye contact as he savored the flavor of Blurr’s concoction. 

“Pharma,” Starscream responded, his expression not betraying the heat simmering through his fuel lines. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

He wouldn’t give in to the clear attempt at provocation. Remaining calm - at least superficially - would be the best way to deny Pharma the upper hand.

“You’re infamous, Starscream,” Pharma drawled. “I’ve heard so much about you that I can’t help but feel as if we’re already acquainted. I’ve even seen some of your handiwork for myself.”

“Can’t say the same about you,” Starscream retorted with a smirk. “‘Pharma.’ The name doesn’t ring any bells. Though _Blurr_ seems to be quite the fan.” He couldn’t quite hide the disgust in his voice at that last bit. He was losing his touch, going soft without the constant threat that Megatron’s very presence represented. “Are you some up and coming medic? A backwater colonist trying to make it in the big city?” 

It was a snide attempt at recovery that he deemed successful when Pharma’s wings angled slightly upwards. To a grounder, the gesture would have been overlooked. But to Starscream, it signified victory. Maybe Pharma wasn’t as unshakeable as he presented himself, or maybe he’d simply spent too much time around ignorant bots who couldn’t decipher his body language and become careless as a result.

Starscream chose to believe the former. 

Pharma appeared to recognize his own mistake, allowing his wings to lower back to their more relaxed position. His grin was eerily unwavering despite it all. “You would know about that, wouldn’t you? That whole movement of yours touted itself as the ideology of the downtrodden, lesser members of society. Oh, pardon me - I shouldn’t attribute it to you.” He gave Starscream a pointed look before he downed more of his drink. “You simply rode the coattails of what Megatron had started. But I’m sure it must have been exciting, being involved with something so big when you yourself came from nothing.”

When Pharma leaned in to whisper in Starscream’s audial, his alcohol-tainted breath was as poisonous as the words that dripped from his tongue.

“Even knockoffs found a place, didn’t they? It must have been nice to belong. Would explain why your kind was so easily manipulated into following that megalomaniac.”

“I don’t know where you get off demeaning those of us who were constructed cold,” Starscream hissed, his circuits ablaze with the latent venom of hateful rhetoric he’d endured long ago, “but you listen to me. There won’t be a place for that in the new Cybertronian society we’re building.”

Pharma leaned back and let loose a laugh as Starscream seethed. “You’ll have to forgive me. It’s the company I’ve been keeping lately. He takes a lot of pride in being purebred. I’m sure you would understand, had you been forged yourself.”

Starscream considered the amount of witnesses in the bar and what a murder attempt would do for his odds of successfully pursuing the helm of Cybertron’s new government. He willed himself to resist any sort of outburst, once again recognizing that doing so would only give Pharma what he wanted.

And Starscream was never one to bow to the whims of others.

“You’re that forged medic the Autobots are so proud of,” Starscream said. He’d given Pharma a thorough look over as he’d waited out the temperamental flare that had crested in his spark. “A prodigy. That’s what they’ve called you.” He picked up his own glass and gazed at the electric blue liquid with an air of nonchalance. “I _suppose_ I can see why they’d think that. I might have heard something about you cleaning up after us at the New Institute.” 

One slender leg crossed over the other, and Starscream couldn’t help but smirk as he noticed Pharma’s attention fixate on the action, if only for a moment. 

“Must be difficult, having all those expectations placed on you. Always worrying that you peaked young. That you’ll never truly be able to please anyone, least of all yourself.” Starscream polished off his drink and set his glass down, the sound punctuating the end of that thought. “I almost pity you.”

“I have my entire future ahead of me,” Pharma asserted, and though his voice maintained that velvet cadence there was a noticeable tension in his jaw, his wings.

“Do you, now.” Starscream tapped against his glass, and each sharp ping seemed to wheedle its way under Pharma’s armor. The medic’s own hand would clench in time to the beat of it. “You don’t sound quite so convinced yourself. I find it a little funny that an unmatched talent like yours doesn’t get much attention. Sure, the _Autobots_ seem quite fond of you, but to the average Cybertronian?” He vented a sigh and shook his helm in a false display of sympathy. “You’re no one special. But _Ratchet,_ now _that’s_ a name even the lowest-ranking Decepticon knows.”

Pharma’s intake appeared to constrict at the mention of the name. “There’s no need to bring him into this.”

“Oh, but you’ve just shown that there _is_ ,” Starscream said, his gaze sharp and smile unrelenting. “Of all things, that’s what struck a nerve. Must be rough, always living in someone’s shadow like that.”

“And you would know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you?” Pharma retorted. His retaliation was immediate and relentless, not missing a beat in this dangerous sort of dance they’d begun. “Despite all your efforts you never could overthrow Megatron. Perhaps your faith in yourself was misguided.”

When Starscream’s plating flared, Pharma let out another bark of laughter that caught the attention of a few nearby patrons. 

“Two people can play that game, Starscream. Keep that in mind.” With that warning lingering in Starscream’s audials, Pharma signaled for Blurr. “Another drink for Starscream. On me.”

Blurr raised a brow but otherwise complied. Starscream regarded Pharma with a similar skepticism.

“What’s your goal here, Pharma,” he growled, not sparing Blurr a glance as he caught the drink that slid his way. “Why bother dragging this out?”

“We’re just having a little fun,” Pharma replied simply. “There’s no need to be coy, Starscream. I doubt you prefer drinking alone to my company.”

Starscream scoffed but couldn’t quite bring himself to deny that. He’d spent far too many nights alone. Any change, even unpleasant, was considered a welcome one.

“That’s what I thought,” Pharma said, and he moved into the next seat over so that he was now sitting adjacent to Starscream. “Do cheer up, Starscream. Megatron’s no longer around, correct? So there’s no one to hold you back. No one to beat that rebellious spirit of yours out of you. And no more excuses, either. If you don’t seize power _now,_ well.” Pharma paused that thought long enough to finish off his cocktail. “I would say that means you really don’t have it in you to be a leader.”

Pharma spoke of the matter so casually. His flippancy only amplified the sudden swell of panic that manifested in Starscream’s spark, leaving his chamber as constricted and claustrophobic as the bar suddenly felt. There was the flash of a memory, the sensation of hands roaming his frame and leaving streaks of spilt energon and the crackle of exposed circuitry in their wake. 

Yet he endured it in silence, knowing that the feeling wouldn’t last, that whenever it flowed it would inevitably ebb as well. Though with each resurgence it always did manage to erode a bit of his resilience and composure, and he knew that one day recovering from a moment such as this would be more than a simple uphill battle, but an impossible task.

“You’ve yet to see what I’m capable of,” Starscream said once he’d found his voice. He hailed Blurr, who gave him another questioning look before taking Pharma’s empty glass to replace it with another of his prized creations. “You and everyone else who doubted me will see.” 

“I look forward to it,” Pharma said. He directed no words of thanks or flattery towards Blurr when he accepted his drink, keeping his attention focused on the Seeker next to him. “Megatron was a blight on the galaxy. An embarrassment to Cybertronians. But if you truly believe you can help our people recover from this, then be my guest and try.”

“I will. You can trust me on that.” Starscream’s own laughter was humorless. “Maybe we have something in common after all. Hatred of Megatron has a way of bringing people together, doesn’t it?” 

“You could say that’s the entire basis of the Autobot ideology.”

“Speaking ill of the Autobots. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you.” 

Pharma’s grin was playful, but it still managed to inspire a sense of unease. “What can I say? I’m a bad Autobot.”

Starscream rested his chin in his hand as he studied Pharma, who in turn gave him a sly look through half-shuttered optics over the rim of his glass. “A bad Autobot who hates Decepticons. What _do_ you believe in, then?”

Pharma was quick to respond, “I believe in survival.”

Starscream let out a genuine laugh at that, paying no mind to the curious whispers his mirth earned from a pair of neutrals that was seated in a booth off to his right. “That makes two of us.”

When he raised his glass in a toast, Pharma clinked his own against it. The engex went down easier when it was paired with a mutual feeling of spite and a shared inclination towards self-preservation. 

But despite the alcohol-induced buzz that had begun to permeate his neural-net, Starscream couldn’t help the bitterness from seeping into his tone as he muttered, “He’s an old fool. An insult to everything the Decepticons stood for. Should have been ousted a long time ago, but he’s like a - what is it, that Earth creature...a cockroach.” Starscream nodded as the word came to him, a glyph that felt alien to his tongue. “A damn cockroach. He just refused to die.”

Pharma murmured in Starscream’s audial as if he were sharing some grand conspiracy. “I heard he wrote poetry. Is it true?”

Starscream cackled loud enough to draw some lingering stares. “It was _atrocious_. I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy. Not even you. But I suppose when you’re a senile old rust bucket you need a hobby like that.”

“Whispering sweet nothings to himself with his own pen and datapad. A sad substitute for a lover,” Pharma jeered after taking a final swig of his engex. When Blurr approached them with that same baffled expression as before, Pharma ordered them a round of shots. “It must have gotten lonely at night.”

The face Starscream made was reminiscent of a mech about to purge their tank. “You act as if he couldn’t have had anyone he wanted. Practically had troops lining up for a chance to frag our dear leader.”

“And were you one of them?” Pharma asked as he took the delivered shot glass in hand. 

It took downing his own shot for Starscream to reply, “I never had to _beg_ like the rest of them. I have dignity, you see. And when you’re someone’s favorite you can just take what you want. Fragger could hardly keep his hands off of me at times.”

“Ah. So that was why he kept you around for so long,” Pharma mused.

“I wasn’t just an asset in the berth,” Starscream snapped. Then, finding comfort in insults once more, he added, “Doubt the old idiot can even get it up anymore.”

Pharma’s wings twitched; perhaps in reaction to the rather crass words Starscream had just spouted. “I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if you _had_ succeeded in killing him. The world would have been a better place with his spark snuffed out.”

“Believe me, I know,” Starscream said. He struggled to quell the wave of unpleasant memories surging through his processor, but ultimately emerged victorious and spoke with a level tone that betrayed nothing. “He was too stubborn for his own good. He’d cling to power until the day he died and even then refuse to allow me to inherit it.”

“Sounds familiar,” Pharma muttered with an acidity that Starscream was all too familiar with.

Starscream’s wings perked up in interest. “The medical prodigy who was always stuck in the shadow of his predecessor. A real sob story, if you ask me, but if it makes you feel any better I’m sure Ratchet already has one foot in the Pit.” 

“Hm,” Pharma hummed noncommittally, and he was suddenly fascinated by the row of bottles encased opposite them. 

“That’s it? You don’t sound too thrilled by the thought.” Starscream examined Pharma with the keen optics of a Seeker, capable of discerning minute details even at mach speeds. “Don’t tell me you’re still fond of him.”

Starscream nearly choked on his engex when Pharma suddenly uttered, “He stole my hands.”

Some of the fluid had slithered down the wrong tube, and Starscream had to take the moment to recover in the form of an undignified wheezing fit before he could respond, “Come again?”

Pharma held up his hands and said, “That company I mentioned earlier. He gave me these as a replacement after Ratchet’s _lapdog_ cut mine off and left me for dead.”

“Wow. That’s a level of desperation not even Megatron would stoop to.” Starscream watched Pharma fiddle with his new appendages as if the feeling of them was still new to him. “What’ll he leech off of you next? Your fuel pump? Brain module? T-cog?”

Pharma shuddered, and Starscream figured it was in reaction to Ratchet’s vampirism. “There’s nothing to keep him from continuing on as Chief Medical Officer now. He never could admit that I was the better surgeon. It was only a matter of time before he relied on such extreme measures.” 

“How _did_ things go so wrong between you?” Starscream probed. The question carried no sympathy, only raw curiosity. “Must be some sort of history between you two. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so attached.”

“We worked together at Deltaran,” Pharma murmured. He still seemed aloof, his processor far separated from the scene in the bar; reliving the relevant memories, Starscream surmised. “He was my mentor for years.”

Starscream flashed him a knowing grin. “So you were a lovestruck student with the hots for your teacher. Typical.”

Pharma’s lips pressed into an unamused line, and Starscream braced himself for the possibility of a slap. But Pharma’s expression twisted into a smirk, and the snarky comment was met with no physical retaliation. “Megatron wasn’t the only one who played favorites. I wasn’t just accomplished in my studies.”

“Can’t believe you fragged the old man,” Starscream said with a snort.

“Like you’re one to talk.”

“But we’re not talking about me,” Starscream drawled. “You said ‘was.’ Bad breakup? Busted for fraternization?”

Pharma kept an optic trained on Starscream. “They sent me to Messatine.”

Starscream’s intake constricted at the mention of the name, the connotations it carried. He rebooted his vocalizer and said, “You must’ve had a death wish to keep working there.”

“And why would you say that? I’m not a Decepticon.” Pharma’s smile inspired that same spine-tingling chill as when he had first sat down. “But someone like you would have every reason to be afraid. Ever set foot in DJD territory, Starscream?”

When Starscream didn’t respond, Pharma huffed a laugh. “I thought so. You would be a prime target for them. Some cowardice on your part is forgivable, all things considered.” 

Starscream ground his denta. “So they really did send you off to some backwater planet. Treating miners instead of war heroes. Truly an insult to someone who supposedly has your talent. I could almost be offended on your behalf.”

“Almost,” Pharma echoed. 

“My sympathy doesn’t come cheap. And you’ve yet to earn it.”

“And here I thought we’d made some sort of connection. I’m hurt.”

Starscream laughed sincerely for the second time that evening. He blamed it on the alcohol.

“I’ll prove that I’m better than him,” Pharma asserted with all the vitriol of someone declaring a vendetta. “Even with my hands, my skill far surpasses his own.”

“I like this look on you,” Starscream said. “Hate suits you. And a little advice, from me to you: hold on to that if you want to get anywhere in life.” 

“And if I don’t?”

“You’ll remain completely expendable. Oh, sure. The Autobot’s will use you for their own purposes. You’re the perfect poster child for the anti-constructed cold agenda - which is still very much alive, and don’t you dare try and argue otherwise. ‘Look at Pharma,’ they’ll say,” and Starscream spoke with the same insidious silver tongue that he himself had been on the receiving end of, “‘He’s proof that only forged mechs are capable of being the finest that society has to offer. The knockoffs are a plague that should grovel beneath his feet.’ 

“But that’s all you’ll ever be. An example for them. And Ratchet will continue to reap the benefits of his position - using _your_ hands, might I add - until someone has the sense to put a bullet through his spark.” Starscream’s digit traced around the rim of his glass as he spoke. Pharma appeared to be entranced by the motion. “If that’s the sort of future that you envision for yourself then by all means, hold on to those feelings of yours. Continue to be complacent. But if you truly do want something more, you know it’ll never happen while he’s around. Trust me on that.”

Pharma fell silent as if considering what Starscream had proposed. Then, seemingly unswayed he said, “Talk to me again when you’re king of Cybertron. Maybe then I’ll be more inclined to trust your word.”

“I will” Starscream said as he examined his talons. “I’ve already got a plan for my victory tour. I’ll be sure to add you to the list.” 

“I’d say I’m honored, but it hardly feels like a privilege when I’m sure you have no shortage of people who have doubted you,” Pharma sneered.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to make each conversation a special one.”

At some point the patrons around them had begun to trickle out of the bar. Blurr had been quick to bustle around and fetch the empty glasses that littered the place and was now finishing up drying the last few. Though he attempted to appear engrossed in the menial task, Starscream noticed the occasional glances that were thrown his and Pharma’s way when there were no longer any other distractions to keep Blurr occupied. Starscream took it as a sign to make their leave and left some shanix on the counter before standing and stretching.

“It was a good way to kill some time, don’t you agree?” Pharma said as he followed Starscream out the door. 

The night air was cool and crisp around them; perfect for a flight. Starscream briefly entertained the idea of inviting Pharma out for one but decided against it. No guarantee that one of them wouldn’t wind up dead if they dragged this odd little dalliance out longer.

“You’ve had your fun, Pharma,” Starscream said. “It’s about time you went back to being second best.”

“Same to you. I’ll say hello to Tarn for you,” Pharma said with no shortage of pleasure when the name evoked a shudder.

Starscream’s mouth felt dry as he said, “The two of you are on friendly terms?”

There was a glimmer of something in Pharma’s optics that Starscream couldn’t quite read. “You could say that.”

“I’d tell you to get better taste, but I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re both despicable.”

“I prefer incorrigible,” Pharma said with a grin that appeared to be less of pride and more of a grim acceptance.

Pharma had probably intended for those to be his parting words, tossed over his shoulder with a knowing grin as he left Starscream to mull over this encounter. 

But he didn’t simply spin on his heel and depart. He hesitated, his intake flexing as if he were choking on the words that didn’t make it through his parted lips. His optics seemed to speak where his vocalizer could not, an entreaty present in the furrow of his brow, the shadow cast over that stunning shade of blue.

A better person would have pressed the matter, Starscream figured. But he told himself Pharma’s brief show of faith had been misplaced as he left without another word and made his way back to his apartment alone.


End file.
